


A Song for the Weary and Broken Hearted

by TheFlailing



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Gen, Knife Sage Soren, M/M, Minor Violence, background Reyson/Tibarn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFlailing/pseuds/TheFlailing
Summary: In the weeks and months following Soren's discovery deep in the libraries of Sienne, the mage had been on edge. The constant fear of discovery plagued his every waking moment, and as the army marched towards Dain Keep, his insecurities only multiplied. As the Greil Mercenaries forged their way into the castle, the only thing on Soren's mind was Ike's survival.
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren, Senerio | Soren & Reyson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80
Collections: Wind's Brand zine





	A Song for the Weary and Broken Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to be able to finally share my written entry for the Wind's Brand Zine! Thanks to the organizer of the zine for allowing me to submit a piece! It was an absolute joy to participate, and I loved writing this fic! Soren is hands down my favourite Fire Emblem character in the whole franchise, and Reyson comes a close second, so when we were prompted to submit pieces that could highlight Soren's relationship with other characters, I jumped at the opportunity to explore what his relationship with Reyson might have been like. 
> 
> As a note:  
> This fic takes place during Path of Radiance Chapter 21: Without a King. I tried to keep things as canonically accurate as possible; the earliest possible point to view Ike and Soren's A support is after Chapter 23.

The fierce mercenary raised his steel axe and issued a battle cry as he charged towards Soren. Hugging his tome to his chest, the mage swiftly pivoted and barely managed to dodge the incoming strike. The steel sliced through the empty air, and the axe, finding nothing but the fluttering of Soren’s robes, struck the hard stone floor of Daein Keep with a resounding _clang!_

The blunder left an opening to strike, and Soren was quick to counterattack. Snapping open the Elwind, Soren began to recite the spell. The magic gathered around him and the air began to stir. The words of the ancient language lifted from his tongue like butterflies taking flight; his faint whispers joined the swirling air around him, kicking up dust and whipping his hair about. The tension was mounting, building to a crescendo until, all at once, the magic broke loose, bursting forth in a maelstrom that hit the mercenary like a flurry of invisible blades.

Shrieking in pain, the soldier fell to the ground.

Panting with exertion, Soren wiped the sweat from his brow. The cold winter air was filled with the sounds of battle as the Greil Mercenaries and their allies fought to push deeper into the castle. They had penetrated far enough into the fortress that they were surrounded on all sides by imposing stone walls. It irritated Soren to no end. There were no windows, and with no view of the sun, it was impossible to judge the passage of time. The only source of light were the mounted torches which cast a deathly orange glow over the pallid, and bare walls.

Soren swiftly took another survey of their surroundings. Everything seemed to be moving smoothly, but even the slightest misjudgement could turn the tide against them, and so Soren had to stay focused. It was impossible to account for all of the variables in battle, but it didn’t stop the young tactician from trying; at every moment, his nimble mind was assessing the sights and sounds of their progress, constantly calculating and recalculating with each new piece of information – the movement of an ally here, the sound of enemy advancement there. And amongst it all, a portion of his attention was always unwaveringly dedicated to keeping track of Ike.

Just then, Ike’s voice pierced through Soren’s thoughts; eyes sweeping over the battle, the mage spied their blue haired commander as he plunged through an opening in the enemy forces.

“Ike!” Soren cried, his piercing red eyes widening with fear as Ike was swiftly blocked from view by encroaching soldiers.

Blood pumping in his ears, Soren opened his tome once more, the words of the spell spilling from his lips as he desperately tried to carve a path through the bodies to follow. The air responded in kind, slicing forth and cutting down another axe wielding fighter and a swordsman. The echoes of Soren’s sandals on the icy stone floor were swallowed by a cacophony of steel and iron, and through the dense crush of bodies, he glimpsed for a brief moment a familiar head of blue hair.

Soren made to call out once more, but the sound caught in his lungs when a burly soldier stepped in front of him with a lance raised. The tactician skidded to a halt, his already tense body frozen in place. Soren’s heart leapt into his throat as the soldier charged. Already exhausted from the battle thus far, Soren knew there was little hope of dodging this blow. From the look of the soldier’s strength, there was also no doubt that Soren was about to be skewered.

Suddenly, a pure voice rang out over the pandemonium. A golden melody filled his ears, and Soren felt powerful magic permeate his soul. A burst of energy coursed through his veins, awakening his tired muscles and breathing fresh air into his lungs. Reaching into his cloak, Soren withdrew a knife and flung it at the soldier in one swift motion. The steel whistled through the air and caught the soldier in the throat, ripping open the soft flesh with a spray of blood.

The soldier crumpled in a heap of armor two steps away from where Soren stood and in the same moment, Oscar galloped past on the left in a blur of green armour, cutting down another soldier as Rolf ran forward on his right, loosing a flurry of arrows as he advanced.

Clutching his heart, Soren gasped as he tried to catch his breath. A gentle breeze and the flapping of wings caught his attention, and Soren looked up to find Prince Reyson drawing near. Even in the poorly lit halls, the White Prince glowed like a beacon of order amongst the chaos. As he flew closer, his silver-trimmed white robes glittered like starlight. The white feathers of his wings seemed to glow and his fair golden hair shone like beams of the sun on a warm spring day.

“Tactician, you are not often caught unaware,” said the prince as he took in Soren’s dishevelled appearance.

Soren pressed his lips into a thin line and straightened under the scrutiny of those piercing, clear green eyes. “Prince Reyson.”

“Have care; this battle is far from won,” the heron said as he touched down.

Soren was about to spit back a retort when Reyson stumbled. With quick reflexes, Soren caught the prince before he tumbled to the ground. It was then that he noticed the pale, waxy pallor of the laguz’s skin, the beads of sweat scattered across his brow, and finally, the arrow shaft that protruded from his right leg. Fresh blood stained the fine silk pantleg from the wound, dripping down onto his leather boot. “You’re injured.”

Reyson winced. “Blasted archers.”

“Hold still,” Soren said as he crouched to place his Elwind tome on the floor. Standing on his unharmed foot, Reyson opened his wings slightly and rested a hand on Soren’s shoulder for balance. Face to face with the wound, Soren could see that the arrowhead was buried into the flesh of the prince’s thigh, but thankfully had not gone in too deep. With any luck, it could be pulled free.

Carefully, Soren grasped the wooden arrow. “This will hurt.” When he felt the prince brace himself, Soren pulled with all his strength.

The arrow came out with a sickening but all too familiar squelch and a burst of fresh blood.

“Ahhh!” Reyson cried, falling forward into Soren’s grasp. As he guided the trembling heron to sit on the floor, the back of Soren’s mind was fascinated by how light the prince was, especially for someone who was taller than Ike.

“Wait a moment,” Soren said as he retrieved his Mend staff. Crouching down once more, Soren held the staff in his right hand and extended his left hand over the open laceration. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath to center himself. Healing magic was different than offensive magic; not only did attack magic require spoken spells, it also demanded aggression and steadfast resolve. Working with staves, however, required calm and balance.

Reaching within himself, Soren felt for the power within him and drew it to the surface. He could feel the energies in the staff stirring, melding with his own magic as he directed it towards the injury. From behind his eyelids, Soren could see the soft glow from the staff as the magic flowed, and slowly, the prince’s ragged breathed began to even out.

When it was finished, Soren sat back on his heels and breathed a sigh of relief.

“You have my thanks,” said the prince.

Soren brushed a stray lock of hair from his face and shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of King Pheonicis by allowing you to be harmed.”

The corner of Reyson’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.

Soren looked away. The battle around them still raged, and Ike was still nowhere in sight. The separation began to gnaw at him from the inside, a black, slimy feeling that squirmed in the pit of his gut. He never liked having Ike out of sight during a fight. It was purely professional, Soren had once tried to tell himself; as the company tactician, it was his duty to be at the side of their commander, ready to advise on new orders should the situation demand it.

“He’ll be fine.”

The mage whipped back around to face Reyson and narrowed his eyes. “What?!” he demanded.

“You need not worry; Ike is fine. The chaotic energy of this battle may poison the air, but I can still sense him.”

Soren held his glare.

“It doesn’t take a heron’s powers to see that you care very much for the commander.”

White hot anger flashed through Soren. “Don’t presume to understand anything about me!”

The prince’s expression hardened, and he lifted his chin in defiance. “Is that so? I don’t need to read your heart to know where – or to whom – it belongs.”

“You have no right whatsoever!”

Reyson exhaled sharply. “Perhaps you are not as keen as I thought. That you are a talented strategist is undeniable, but it seems there are some things to which you are blind. You guard yourself with a prickly demeanor and a sharp tongue, but I can still see the fear of rejection in your eyes.”

Soren jumped to his feet. “How dare you!” he threatened lowly.

Reyson rose as well, drawing up to his full height, and it irked Soren to have to look up to meet the prince’s steely gaze. “I say this because in some ways, we are alike. For one, our emotions run almost as strong as our loyalties. Had I the strength, I would move mountains for Tibarn, as I have seen you do for Ike. Even just now, you would blindly throw yourself into the jaws of danger to follow where he goes.”

Soren bit down on his tongue. As loathe as he was to admit it, the heron had spoken truth.

Reyson reached forward and placed his hand on Soren’s shoulder, gripping him more firmly that he thought the heron was capable of. The mage flinched at the contact, but the laguz held him in place. “It is also easy to see that Ike cares deeply for you too.”

“How would you know such things?”

“Ike looks at you the same way Tibarn looks at me. He may not say as much, but he would never forsake you.”

Unease stirred in Soren’s stomach as he digested those words. As he stood under Reyson’s piercing gaze, he couldn’t help but wonder why the prince was even speaking to him at all. With all that power and magic, Reyson was sure to know the terrible secret Soren had been so desperately trying to hide, and yet here he was, offering what Soren was beginning to realize were words of reassurance. Of all laguz, one of such high stature should have been disgusted and repulsed by his existence.

“Why are you telling me this?” The words tumbled from Soren’s mouth before he could stop himself, and once spoken, they could not be snatched back.

The White Prince shrugged. “It seemed that you needed to be told.”

Soren straightened. “Very well.”

“We should return to the fight,” Reyson said, releasing the mage from his grasp.

Without another word, the two turned towards the raging battle. The mercenary company had pushed the Daein soldiers back to the end of the hall, where they were trying to defend their position in front of an imposing set of heavily fortified double doors at the end of the corridor.

Tome in one hand and silver knife in the other, Soren began to recite his spell, taking aim at the closest soldier. The moment he had he unleashed Elwind, the residual magic tingling on his lips and fingertips, Reyson’s pure voice rang out, carrying with it the melody of galdr of vigor, once more washing away the mage’s fatigue. Soren’s lips stretched into a feral grin as he cast another Elwind, mercilessly beating down his opponent.

For the next several minutes, Soren fought beside Reyson as they worked their way to the front of the fray, tearing a gaping hole in the enemy defenses with blast after blast of magic. The Daein soldiers, sensing the dwindling chances of victory, had begun to retreat. The Crimean army pushed forward, trying to catch the withdrawing guards before the heavy iron doors closed behind them. Soren had once again glimpsed Ike’s head of blue hair amongst the chaos, his blade flashing in the torchlight, when he heard Reyson gasp behind him.

A Daein soldier, clad in dented ebon armour, had one filthy hand fisted in Reyson’s tunic, his sword raised to strike. Swift as the wind magic he wielded, Soren sprang forward, throwing his entire body weight behind his strike. The silver knife embedded itself into the soldier’s back with a dull thud. Buried all the way to the hilt, Soren knew that the blade had pierced through the man’s heart. With a twist of his wrist, Soren wretched the knife free as the soldier staggered and then fell.

Looking up from the body, Soren met with a pair of wide, clear green eyes. Laguz and beorc looked at one another for a heartbeat, both breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the moment. Slowly, Reyson’s expression shifted into a hard mask, and he gave Soren a firm nod.

The mage nodded in response.

“Soren! Reyson!” Ike’s voice broke through the moment, and he turned to see Ike approaching them. Dirt and blood was smeared across his face, but even still, Soren couldn’t help but think that it was the most handsome visage on the whole continent (and perhaps even beyond). “There you are!” he said. “Reyson, are you all right?”

The prince brushed his hands over his chest in an attempt to dislodge the grime from his tunic. “Yes, Ike, I’m fine.”

“How are you holding up?”

“As well as can be expected.”

Ike exhaled and nodded. “Good to hear. You let me know if you’re getting tired; I think we’re coming up on the throne room and I want everyone to be prepared when we face Ashnard.”

“Very well,” Reyson said. “In that case, I might take a moment to rest before we continue.” With a nod to each of them, the heron excused himself.

As soon as the prince had turned away, Ike moved in front of Soren, crowding close. “I thought you were right behind me but when I turned and you weren’t there and I…” Ike shook his head. He had spoken in a low voice, quiet enough so that only Soren could hear his words. Ike placed a strong hand on Soren’s arm. “Are you okay?” he asked, his warm breath ghosting over Soren’s face.

Soren looked up into Ike’s searching blue eyes, so close and filled with so much concern. Reyson’s words echoed in his ears, and for the first time since finding that terrible, accursed book in Sienne, Soren allowed a tiny glimmer of hope to bloom in his chest.


End file.
